


pressed under the skin

by hariboo



Category: Bleach
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/pseuds/hariboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You cut your hair," he twists in his chair watching her approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pressed under the skin

**Author's Note:**

> episode coda for 365 and 366, kinda.

The marks don't leave. Probably because they're just not just marks. He's unsure what to call them because they're not tattoos either. They don't feel as if they're tattoos, which is an odd thing to think about, but then again, what's not odd about his life. He feels that to call them tattoos he should have an a choice in receiving them, that he should have chosen where they go on his body, but they just appeared. Bloomed under his skin and wrapped themselves around him. He touches his hand to his the middle of his chest over the white t-shirt he shrugged into back home after a shower and everybody was safe in their rooms. Now he's alone in his room, trying to get used to the changes tonight brought. He keeps his reiatsu close to him; keeping it wrapped around him like a blanket, thick and heavy.

Just like the lines that stand out on his wrist. He thinks about how the bands of black ink -- is it even ink or some odd spiritual markings that his reiatsu makes? That Zangetsu has chosen to permanently mark him with. He's not sure, but he thinks about the lines wind across his chest and back, like bandages, as if they're holding him together.

An index finger traces over the crisscross band of tinted skin. It's match rests on the his other wrist. Urahara mentioned once that it's in the wrists of a shinigami that their power vents out. To block them can mean blocking someone's power. Urahara did it to Aizen.

It's not the same. He can feel it, under his skin.

Still, he should probably have a talk with the man. Renji too, thinking about his friend and how Zabimaru had matching tattoos as it's partner. The old man didn't have any, but there was so much the old man protected him from still. He's quiet now, but Ichigo can already hear the familiar hum of power at the edges of his consciousness.

He thinks his marks are protecting him. Holding him together, holding the pressure of his power in place.

Closing his right hand over his left wrist, Ichigo closes his eyes and hopes he can stay in one piece. He leans back in his chair. Behind him the door open and he sighs.

"You know, I thought you'd be happier to see me." It's a feat not to turn immediately.

He looks up from his desk over his shoulder where she's entering the room. It's funny, he never once thought he'd forget anything about her but her voice sounds different. Deeper. Also, there's something else. He noticed the Vice-Captain badge, but there's more to it. Rukia's eyes are steady on his. Her reiatsu is coiled and controlled around her, as always, but it's significantly more powerful.

His eyes linger on the line of her jaw, thinking: _we've grown up_.

"You cut your hair," he twists in his chair watching her approach. She's slow to move further into the room, eyes taking in the very mild changes. Her hands trail picture frames and books. They linger on his copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_. Her eyes narrow and in a second she's tossing the book at his face.

He catches it easily. There's wasn't an incredibly amount of force behind the throw--she wanted him to catch the book.

"Hey! What was that for?" Still, he has his part to play.

 _All the world's a stage,_ the words flash through his mind, but right now he's grateful for their old ways. It makes him almost believe nothing has changed. Almost; Ichigo's not that accomplished of a liar to believe his own lies.

"You just noticed about my hair?!" She snaps, walks over to him, stands in the space his legs make and flicks her fingers against his forehead.

He rolls his eyes and tugs at her arm. "I was kinda busy before, if you hadn't noticed! Someone stabbed me through with a sword."

The smile is quick and smug, her teeth bite into the flesh of her bottom lip for a second. He tugs her closer. His new marks make his hold on her look different. He wonders if he looks different to her. She traces the black bands with her eyes.

Rukia pulls at his hands, holding them between hers, and he lets her examine them. Her fingers trail across his skin much like his did. Her thumb presses down on the bones, her fingertips brush his knuckles.

"They stayed."

"Yeah," he pulls his hands back; lays them flat on his thighs.

Her eyes drop to his chest.

He nods.

"Oh, huh. Well." She licks her lips. It's not her most articulate come back, by far. It makes him smile.

"Wraps around my back too."

Eyes fly up to his, brows arched high and her hands close over his shoulders. "Let me see," she says, but really orders, eyes flashing in curiously, even as her hands go to pull his shirt off. He lets her do as she wishes. The cotton drags over his skin and face, his arms are pulled up and over his head, and he's shrouded in pure white -- snow, he thinks; hollow, he thinks; it's Rukia here, he thinks. -- for second before he sees her face again.

He breathes out.

Warm hands press down on his shoulder and trail over the dark lines that cover him. She steps further into the space his legs make for her and his nose is practically at her sternum as she leans over his shoulder her hands follow the tattoos. He's thinking he's gonna call them tattoos. Sounds better than markings, branding, which is what he really thinks they are.

Brands from the others that even now are getting louder within him.

"Ichigo."

He blinks.

Her hand come back to his face. She has such small hands, but they're so strong and he wonders on their strength, on about how they're really the only thing holding him together. He closes his eyes, breathes. For the first time in seventeen months he feels the dark churning pull of everything that was threatening to eat him alive release. He thinks that somewhere inside him a seventeen month storm has finally stopped.

Zangetsu's reiatsu hums silently at him and he knows the old man is agreeing. They're going to need to talk soon, all three of them. Ichigo's not sure how he feels about that, but he knows it's necessary. It's been a long time and there's still a lot that remains to be said. The storm might have stopped but rain clouds haven't left.

It's going to be a long talk.

Ichigo opens his eyes when he feels Rukia's lips press against the centre of his brow. Her fingertips at his temple, trace his hairline.

"Ichigo?" She's worried, but she's here. And she smells like _Rukia_.

He closes his arms around her waist, and rests his forehead just below her collarbones. Inhales. Fresh snow and mint tea, his mind whispers.

"I guess I can't make fun of Renji's tattoos anymore." His voice is muffled by her skin and uniform.

Her huff of laughter is sharp and short. Her palm stretch on his cheeks and she pushes him away, tilting his face up to hers. Amusement and worry dance in her eyes. Underneath that, there's a sharp swirl of other emotions. She's still a little pissed at him for giving up. It touches him, warms him.

He had missed her so much.

She shakes her head. Her thumbs push against his lips. "At least they're not on you face." Her lips twist, and her eyes flash. "You don't need help looking scarier."

The laugh bursts out of him, a shock, and he quickly follows it with a scowl. "Hey!"

But again, that sharp something stops poking at his soul and slides into place. The pressure on his chest lessens.

Before she can say anything else, and really, they're too good at filling their silences with with teasing banter Ichigo reaches up and threads his fingers through her hair -- he likes the new length and how it flutters at her jawline -- pulling her down to his level. His lips close over her, the simmering need and heat of months of being without her guiding and taking over. He dreamt of her often, of her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her face, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her hips, the scars of her body. He missed her everyday.

Her mouth opens easily and he tugs her closer. Rukia's legs lift and her thighs shift over his, her fingers slide into his hair.

It's a messy, needy, wet kiss. Mostly lips and teeth and quick pants of air as they clutch at each other. Her teeth close over his chin as he shoves the top of her uniform off her shoulder.

"Rukia," he mumbles against the the skin of her neck, tonguing at her pulse.

Her moan -- her _first_ moan in seventeen months -- has him hard in instant and he's lifting, turning, and setting her on his desk. A part of his brain tells him that his bed is right there, but it's drowned out by the fact that Rukia pulls him closer, her hands shoving his sweatpants and boxers down his hips. It's kinda nice to know he's not the only one that's been doing the missing.

Ichigo breaks away from her for second, too long of a second, and bends back down to her lips for a quick kiss before he concentrates on the ties of her hamaka. Together they pull at the remainders of her uniform, shifting and slipping it from her body. Rukia's hands tangling with his more of than not, telling him to hurry, hurry, hurry.

When his fingers close over her underwear -- yellow with white bunnies -- he leans into her, sighing at how her hands drift over his back and nips at her lips as he pulls the cotton material away from her legs and tosses it to the bed they're still ignoring.

His fingers trail up her thighs and Ichigo closes his eyes to just listen to her and her breath as it comes in quicker and harsher. He slides his fingers against her as he drops to his knees, eyes opening just in time to see her mouth drop open.

She chokes out his name.

Nuzzling against her inner thigh, he drops quick, wet kisses to her skin as he inches closer to her centre. Rukia's eyes don't leave his face and her finger curl over his shoulder. Ichigo slides a hand under her thigh and settles it over his arm.

"Missed you," he mumbles too quickly, before pressing his tongue to her.

Rukia arches off his desk. Her nails bite into his skin, thighs tensing under his hand.

She's making low sounds, familiar sounds; warm and perfect around him.

It's an exercise in remembering. Her sounds, her skin, her. Rukia. She's the only one that has ever had it all make sense.

He licks at her and she tugs at his hair. He slips another finger in, curling just so, and she inhales sharply. He sucks at her clit and she breathes out his name. He flattens his tongue against her, teeth sliding just over her clit, spreading her open and her hips push into his face.

He glances up at her and feels his breath catch in his throat at her eyes. They're dark and shining, the edges almost glowing blue with power. He pulls away, just enough to breathe again, and then twists the fingers in her, lips and teeth closing over her hip bone and feels her come apart in his hands. She's reaching for him, pulling him up even as she leans forward and mashes their mouths together. Pushes his way into his mouth, making him swallow her moans. Pulling his hand out from her, he rubs at her flesh gently, making her sigh against his mouth. His knees ache a little from the floor but he only catalogues the pain fro a second before it's all lost in the feel of Rukia wrapping herself around him, thighs and arms winding around him much like his marks.

Vaguely, he thinks about he likes the feel of her better.

She's panting lightly in his ear mumbling short words he can't really make out.

He pulls back to kiss her again, this time slower. Rukia's coming down and he's easing back, sucking at her tongue, nipping softly at her lips. She leans back on his desk, her hands drifting over him.

Lip swollen, and shining wetly, her smile is dangerous, "Missed you too." The best kind of dangerous, he amends.

Ichigo groans when he feels her fingers trail along his length, his neck practically snapping back at the feel of her hands.

It's been months. God, it's been months since anyone (besides himself) has touched him like this--that she's touched him like this. At all, actually.

He can feel her smile against his neck, slow and wicked, and he knows she's doing this on purpose. She licks at the his skin. Rukia's thighs clench around his waist and pull him closer. She pumps him once, twice, slow and sure, before guiding him inside her.

Ichigo's forehead falls on her shoulder.

It's been months.

His hands drop flat and heavy on his desk, fingers curling in and biting into his palms.

She sucks wetly at underside of his jaw, her teeth make an appearance. Then her tongue.

God, it's been fucking months and she's knows it. Ichigo moans.

Rukia's hands slide over his hips and ass. She rolls her hips, slowly, setting and guiding the pace.

Groaning, Ichigo pants against her shoulder, his mouth sliding over her collarbone. He thrust into her, breath coming in hard and low. One hand lifts and fists in her hair as to ground himself as she grinds into him. He pushes into her, slow and deep, trying to keep his control. Her teeth close over his earlobe, and he can feel her smile.

"Ichigo," she says, slow and sure, in time with push and pull of their bodies. Her hips snap into his. "Fuck me."

He knew this wasn't going to last long.

It's been months, fuckitall.

He bends her backwards on his desk, his boding curving over her. One hand closes over her hip, his lips closing over one breast as their rhythm speeds up.

Nails dig into his ass as he starts thrusting too quickly and clumsily into her and her lips follow the line of his cheekbone, as he muffles his shout against her neck. Rukia holds his body together as he comes apart. She keeps him against her for a few minutes, legs locked tight around him, then gently she unwinds and slips from under him. Ichigo feels drugged, heavy and yet the most content he's been in ages. He smiles as she shoves him back and then pushes him down onto his bed, the sheets blessedly cool under him. He wonders where she is for a second, lifting his head to see what she's doing when Rukia settles over him, fingers tracing the new patterns on his chest. Lips following fingers.

From the corner of his eye he sees their clothes on his chair. She can be so neat sometimes. He missed her so much.

"Rukia," he starts, but she shushes him.

"Go to sleep, Ichigo, we'll talk in the morning." She says it so easily, so simply that it drives the last not so phantom ache from his chest.

"Promise?" He can't help but ask, feeling suddenly just like the seventeen year old boy he is and yet so much older at the same time.

Her palms slide over his jaw and then her face is above his, wide eyes shining in the dark like in every dream he's had for months. "I'll be here."

"Good."

He leans up and kisses her, lazy and slow. Her lips stretch under his.

Slipping away from his line of sight, she fumbles with the end of his bed and pulls his sheets over them, her head pillowed on his chest. At his side their fingers twine together and he closes his eyes, feeling her trace the marks on his wrist.

"I think I'm going to need to invest in more long sleeve shirts," he mumbles, already drifting.

Rukia's laugh is a warm puff of air on his chest.

At the moment it's all he needs.  



End file.
